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Dragon Bride 2"There’s a Dragon in these mountains," the archer Marcus snickered.
"Maybe that’s why you haven’t bagged a buck yet." snapped a blonde companion, Collin, scratching his beard.
"If you would both stop your damn squawking, we’d finally catch something!" hissed the Prince Duane.
Neil watched as his half brother argued with his friends. He snickered a bit, but shook his head. “Duane, maybe we should head back. We haven’t seen anything in this forest.” he remarked.
Collin nodded in agreement. “Not so much as crow in these parts.”
"My point exactly!" Marcus threw up his hands. "It’s too quiet in these parts. We should go back to the glen, the closer we are to the river, maybe we can at least bag few geese."
Duane shot a glare at Marcus, then trudged on in the forest. Collin sighed and followed his ward, Neil followed with a groan and Marcus brought up the rear.
The sounds of nature were muted, the only noise that any of them heard w
Dragon BrideI tugged at my bound hands, the thick ropes chafing my wrists raw. It hurt, and I was sick of hearing everyone speak to me. What a great honor it was! How proud my family must have been!
I had tried to run for it, twice, before they had taken a cane to the soles of my feet. The pain was immense, a deep pulse that traveled from my feet to the tips of my limbs.
"We’re very sorry Princess." one of the guards in the caravan assured me. "But this… you know what this means for the kingdom."
I gave him a dirty look, my joints feeling the ache of a long journey in a cart like a bale of hay or the sheep we tended in my home village. My village with clean fresh glens, springs, and grasses sweet and full. My village where my family had been for several generations.
I stared at the rose pink and off white gown, that was illfitting and unmanageable.
My throat was as raw as my wrists and my eyes were dry as midsummer in the hills. I wanted water, but none was offered. Every time I attem
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More